


So Haste Ye Hither

by marybarrymore



Series: The Parliament of Bats [1]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: Because bad things happen to their faithful uncles, Gen, The Two Royal Houses of Lancaster Meet, Woe to thee O land when thy king is a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marybarrymore/pseuds/marybarrymore
Summary: Pedro Duke of Coimbra had a talk with his English cousin the Duke of Bedford, who had just returned from France to settle the rivalry between the Duke of Gloucester and the Bishop of Winchester.
Series: The Parliament of Bats [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107806
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	So Haste Ye Hither

**Author's Note:**

> The year is the winter of 1425.

Pedro stretched his fingers and warmed his hands by the fire, before resuming his seat behind the desk and taking up his quill, a cloud of mist melted into the air as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I wish I were in Lisbon now. The weather here in England is simply unbearable," he said, "I should beat myself up for deciding to spend the winter in England."

Alvaro sat on the thick layer of straw which covered the floor, and reached out to push the head of the beagle lying on his lap away from his newly made tights.

"The King has wished you to stay," he replied, "the boy was truly sorry when you said you were leaving. Besides, you left Lisbon with the hope of travelling through the seven parts of the world, and it would be an inglorious thing indeed, if you were driven home by the winter of England."

His friend did not answer, but for a moment thought of the child who had been carried to the throne, sitting on his mother's lap, kicking his short legs and trying to reach the floor, looking at them with his bright, dark eyes, apparently not understanding why these people were shouting and throwing their fists at each other, and even finding it amusing enough to giggle at them, before being stopped by a tiny pinch from his mother.

"The king is too young indeed," Pedro sighed softly, remembering the boy who greeted him with solemnity unbecoming of a four-year-old in front of the court; who with sparking eyes reached for the plague-bag dangling on his waist when he thought no one was noticing, before being stopped by his mother's maid; who giggled merrily when Pedro lifted him high, waving his arms vigorously, paying little heed to the look of disapproval on his confessor’s face, "too young to be a king, yet these Engllishmen pretended as if they were ruled by him. A child of his age should have been out playing with his friends instead of sitting there and for hours hearing nothing but the dull and meaningless arguments of his elders. There should have been a Regent to rule in his stead ere a young king comes of age. I wonder why these Englishmen never think of that."

"It is not that they never think of it," said Alvaro, "just that they will not have the Duke of Gloucester as regent. You know what hearty welcome that Regent of France received when he entered the city today. If their late King had appointed him Regent of England, their Parliament would not have hesitated to approve it."

Pedro had been with the boy king at Eltham, and didn’t make it back in time to see the Regent enter the city, so Alvaro went to watch it himself, and was corrected by an enthusiastic English nobleman who was with him when he referred to My Lord of Bedford as Regent – My Lord of Bedford was Regent in France, but in England there was no such title, and he should refer to the Duke as Lord Protector – all these changing of titles confused him, and he told his companion so. For wasn’t the Lord Protector of England Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester? The man snorted at this remark.

"Gloucester! Why, how can he be Lord Protector of England and overrule my Lord of Bedford, who is our late King’s elder brother? He only assumes the title when his brother Bedford is not in England - and he did not protect England very well, did he?" The man said and with a grateful look turned to the Duke’s direction, "Thank god Bedford is back at last. He can restrain his brother's wanton behaviours and I shan’t fear having my head broken in twin for no reason on the streets of London."

Alvaro thought that a great many more must have held the same view, since the Duke of Bedford received good cheer when he entered the city - and he would have been cheered ten times as heartily if he had not let the Bishop of Winchester ride with him into the city. The Londoners detested Bishop Beaufort.

"I haven't seen these Londoners so fervent for a long time," his companion leaned out half his body to see the Duke stop his horse to accept the Lord Mayor's gift, "the last time was when our late King – God assoil him – and his new Queen entered the city on a Valentine’s Day. Were you in England then?"

"Nay," Alvaro replied honestly, "I left England too early, even missed King Harry’s grand entry into London after his victory over the French at Agincourt. "

He had returned to Portugal before the king set sail for France, so took no part in that famous battle. But he took with him the seven hundred lances which the king had given him, and brought these with him to conquer Ceuta with João I and his sons, driven out the heathens and gained immortal fame all the same, so there was little he had lost.

"I remember that you once served under young Henry's father ere he became king, and were on friendly terms with him, Alvaro," Alvaro raised his eyes, and saw that the Infante had set aside his quill again to warm his hands, "Do you know this Duke of Bedford?"

He knows him scarcely, and have only met him a few times when serving the Prince of Wales. Alvaro thought, then a blurred image came to mind. The sight of a slender youth seated in his chair glancing up, a tall, robust youth standing behind him, hands resting on the back of the chair, leaning down to hear him speak. His nicely-combed hair tousled into a mess by the seated youth.

"I hardly knew him," he replied, "only that he was very close to his brother."

Pedro had already grabbed his quill and was writing when he heard this. He paused, leaving a small ink spot on the parchment.

"That's what I've heard," he said gently, "he made great lamentation at his brother’s death."

Even they in Portugal were astonished by the news. It was as if the last time they heard, their English cousin had been invincible in the field, triumphing over his enemies, and their father had chided Duarte fiercely upon hearing it, telling Duarte to emulate his cousin of England, who had destroyed the flower of French chivalry in his twenties, whereas Duarte, who was of the same age as him, had been slow in learning to govern and seemed more interested in hunting and philosophy. Then the next thing they heard was that the King of England had parted this world, leaving behind an infant not yet a year old to succeed him. Everyone said that now that the King of England was a child, their land shall be in woe. Only Duarte seemed somehow relieved at the news, and privately told Pedro that it was fortunate their father had not married their sister Isabella to this short-lived king of England, for they loved her dearly. He agreed at this, but then and there an untimely thought crossed his mind, and he wondered whether he would have grieved like his English cousin's brothers should Duarte die before him. Probably not, he thought, uncertain of it, and convinced himself that Duarte still had many years left to live.

He threw these thoughts away, dipped his quill and continued to write his letter. The cold breeze outside knocked against the windows of Westminster Palace, the woods crackled in the fireplace, smoke ascended into the flue, the beagle rolled on the floor and snored in content. Alvaro found himself a stool by the fire but was summoned out again by a knock on the door.

"There is someone to see you, my lord," he returned to the room before Pedro could finish his sentence, "the Duke of Bedford, will you see him now?" He looked a little uneasy, apparently wondering why the Duke, now undoubtedly the most powerful man at the English court, should visit his master in the dead of night. Pedro opened his mouth and nearly uttered the yea word before he glanced at the lines he had just written on the parchment. He hastily piled a few more rolls on it to conceal his unfinished letter, then, adjusting his expression, nodded and with dignity befitting the son of a king, rose to greet his English cousin, whom he had never met before.

The Duke of Bedford seemed to have waited outside the door. His flannel robe, rich with embroidery, came sweeping into the room as soon as Alvaro opened the door, and Pedro was surprised when he saw his cousin's face. The Duke’s younger brother, the Duke of Gloucester, whom he had known quite well, was lightly built with a comely face. Those Italian ambassadors at court had gossipped among themselves, and all agreed that the Duke of Gloucester was the most handsome of all the princes of England. He had naturally assumed that the Duke of Bedford would be of the similar stature as his brother, but when the duke entered the room, he saw a man tall and strong, casting a huge shadow on the floor, and the mere presence of him made the chamber seem suddenly small and cramped. The Duke of Bedford had a prominent hawk nose on his round face, with a stern gaze and brown hair that was beginning to grey, and looked nothing like his handsome and dashing brother. He embraced and kissed Pedro with great formality and turned his attention to Alvaro.

"This is Alvaro of Almada, a valiant knight and a good friend of mine."

The Duke of Bedford looked attentively at Alvaro for a few moments and clapped his hands, which startled the latter.

"I remember you," said the Regent of France in a kindly tone, rather at odds with the cold, proud look he wore when he did not speak, "you once served under my brother."

Alvaro's face flushed, and he puffed out his chest, "Indeed, my lord! I served your brother when he was prince and fought under his banner in Wales! But I never imagined you would remember as common a knight as me!"

"Harry complimented me on your bravery," the Duke of Bedford smiled, the coldness in his eyes faded and there was a touch of nostalgia in his tone, "he was truly sorry that such a great knight as you did not stay to serve him, and made bitter complaints to me after you left England for Ceuta."

Pedro burst out laughing. Alvaro smiled in embarrassment and tried to explain, but the Duke of Bedford waved his hand.

"Nay, I'm not blaming you. You chose to go on a crusade and fight the heathens in Africa, an equally noble cause. That's what Harry said. Yet he complaint that when you left you only told him that you were going to fight the Moors, and never told him if you would return. When you come to England again, he shall - "

He paused abruptly and blinked, when he spoke again it was still in that gentle, affectionate tone.

"- he said he would not let you get away so easily."

Pedro walked over to the window, seeming suddenly to take a great interest in whether it was properly shut, and pretended not to see the Duke of Bedford pressing his eyes to his sleeves from the reflection in the window.

By the time Pedro had walked away from the window, the Duke had collected himself and sat down in a chair, accepted the wine Alvaro offered him, and listened quietly as the Infante asked him the reason for his night visit. Pedro had already made some guesses and was therefore not surprised to hear that the Duke wanted to hear him recount what had happened in London during those troublesome days.

"I thought you entered the city with the Bishop of Winchester," he said, taking his own wine from Alvaro, "surely he must have told you everything – or perhaps more than everything."

"Still, I want to hear more than his side of the story," replied the Duke calmly, "Humphrey and Beaufort argue with all fierceness, and Humphrey, who claims to be ill at Greenwich, it seems, doesn’t want to see me. but I won’t blindly accept everything Beaufort said either. Of all the people involved, I think that you, Dom Pedro, are the only one who can give me a fair and impartial account of what happened. I have also heard that it was you who came forward to persuade that brother of mine to stop his nonsense," he said with a bitter smile, "and I am grateful to you."

"Nay, not I. It was only through the Archbishop of Canterbury's endeavour that they stopped. I only helped, a bit."

He was really stunned by what he saw that day. The city was under siege, the gates shut, the shops closed, and everyone in the city wore a frightened look. He had heard that the last time the gates of London were all shut was when their late king had just succeeded to the throne and some lollard heretics tried to rise up against him. But then the king himself had ridden out to meet them, the heretics fled at the sight of him and no Cheshire archers had dared to shoot at the walls of London. English archers were known throughout Europe, but he had never dreamed that the first time he see their arrows flying in the air they would be towards his direction. Thank God he never see such scenes in Lisbon. The Portuguese would never besiege their own capital, the only ones who dared were the god-damned Castilians, who had not the gut to set foot on Portuguese soil ever since defeated by Pedro's father, the great King João, let alone show themselves under the walls of Lisbon. But the English archers, who should have been aiming their goose feathered arrows at their arch-enemies, the French, instead bent their yew bows to aim at the walls of London, trying to knock open the gates of England's capital with their rains of arrows as they had conquered the cities of France. The Portuguese ambassadors returning from England all these years must have told terrible lies when they raved about England's peace and tranquility, the nobility all of one mind and serving the crown faithfully. The Bishop of Beaufort's Cheshire archers were locked outside the city; Duke Humphrey, and the citizens of London who supported him, were locked inside; the Lord Mayor and aldermen of the city were called from their banquet to defend the walls, without having had time to take off their festive gowns and heavy jewels. The Archbishop of Canterbury came to him, his pale, aged face etched with weariness.

"Dom Pedro," the Archbishop asked him, "you are a royal descendent of the noble duke of Lancaster, a son of the great king João and the uncle of our Lord the king. Now that the king is of tender age and away from the city, there is no one of nobler birth than you among these present, except for the two who are causing such havoc today. Will you come with me to mediate between them?"

Naturally, he agreed. Though he did not think he could be of any use. But he could not have such an old man as the Archbishop to leave the relative safety within the city and travel through those Cheshire archers alone. But the Duke of Gloucester and Bishop Beaufort refused to talk. One insisted that the Bishop had taken the Tower of London for himself, that he had the King in Eltham Palace surrounded by his men, that he hid his mercenaries in Southwark, and that he must have been plotting rebellion. While the other denied all charges, swearing that he had no such rebellious intentions, that the Duke of Gloucester accused him simply because the Council had denied his request to serve as Regent of England, and Gloucester placed the blame on his head, and that he had been prevented from entering the city by the Duke’s malicious conducts, and the capital of England was like the Duke of Gloucester's private stronghold. The two of them had made four or five trips back and forth without accomplishing anything except exhausting themselves and their mounts, and the words used on both sides just became more and more heated. Beaufort accused Gloucester of his foolish expedition to Hainault, and mocked him for wanting to take control of England when he saw his ambition of becoming the Count of Hainault had been foiled. Gloucester insulted Beaufort for his insatiable greed, for wanting to assassinate the late king, and said if his brother were still alive he would never have spared the fat-assed cleric.

"But My Lord of Gloucester," the Archbishop waited for him to spit out all the filthy words which he used to make a thorough description of the Bishop, before speaking slowly, "do you think that if your brother were still alive he would tolerate you beating the guards of the Tower of London for no good reason, closing the gates of the city and turning the walls of London into a siege? "

The Duke of Gloucester leapt to his feet, his eyes red, his ranting voice could have reached Bishop Beaufort’s palace at Southwark without difficulty.

"If my brother were still alive, how could I come to this!"

The Duke of Bedford pursed his lips and said nothing, listening to Pedro's recollection of how he and the Archbishop of Canterbury had to travel eight times to reconcile the two sides. Bishop Beaufort disbanded his archers and the Duke of Gloucester opened the gates and relieved the capital, but since then there had been no peace in London, the Duke and the Bishop's servants fighting in the city, whereas the Duke and the Bishop accusing each other in the Parliament. The Archbishop of Canterbury tried to mediate the dispute, and for several times almost burst into tears, angered by their importunity. The only person who, with his natural rights, could have stopped them, was a child, sitting on his mother's lap, playing with the tassel on her belt, and seemed to be the only one who found the whole business amusing.

The Duke of Bedford lowered his eyes for a moment in contemplation and gave a short laugh.

"That my brother should be so popular in London," he laughed softly, "no wonder the Parliament that meets in London never accomplishes anything."

Pedro looked at him curiously.

"Don't you support your own brother?"

"If he had been in the right, I would naturally have supported him," replied the Duke of Bedford coldly, "if he had not made a scene of himself and demanded the regency of England in defiance of my right and the decisions of the Council; if he had not forced his way into the Tower of London in defiance of my steward, Richard Woodville, who received his orders from the Council; if he had not publicly accused Beaufort of being a shameless traitor, stirring up fear and anger, destroying the peace of England, and interfering with my campaigns in France, then naturally I would have supported him. But now that he has done these things," he rose, casting a huge shadow on the floor, and the bitter smile that had been on his lips when hearing Pedro speak was now gone. The Duke stood there, cold and majestic like a statue, "he has been out of control for too long, and I think I must have a talk with this brother of mine."

"And what about Bishop Beaufort? Gloucester said Beaufort once intended to assassinate your brother and had incited him against your father."

The Duke of Bedford sighed softly.

"I don't know," he said curtly, "those things Harry never told me. And I would not ask him if he decided not to tell. I was in the North then, and Harry told me to stay there and keep away from the court, to guard the border against the Scots. But Harry always trusted Beaufort," his bushy eyebrows knitted together, making him look like a bad-tempered eagle, " if Beaufort had ever done such a thing, Harry would never have kept him in his service."

"But the Duke of Gloucester doesn't sound very much like he's lying."

"He believes he’s not lying," the Duke of Bedford laughed, with a look he had sometimes seen on Duarte's face. It was the same look Duarte would wear when he heard Enrique talk enthusiastically about Prester John's palace of gold floor and jasper ceiling, "He's too gullible and selfish ... he thinks the Bishop has robbed - the Bishop and I had robbed him of what was rightfully his, and he would have done anything to get it back. But it wasn't his due in the first place," his voice trailed off, more like speaking to himself than to Pedro, "It has never been Harry's intention ... he never intended to sacrifice my rights to fulfill Humphrey's ambition."

Pedro suddenly felt that the King Henry, who now sit on the throne and ruled England, was not so much the boy in the palace of Eltham as the ghost of the king that dead was, whose mortal remains lied buried in Westminster Abbey. It seemed that all men were using the name of the king that was as an excuse for what they had done. The Duke of Gloucester would do anything to get the regency because, according to him, it was the late King's wish; Beaufort could never have intended to rebel because he was in the late king’s favour; Richard Woodville's refusal to let Gloucester into the Tower was not ill-intentioned because Woodville had been a trusted servant of the late king; Gloucester's attempt to enter the Tower must have been malicious because the Duke had taken a prisoner from the Tower, a friar who had once plotted against the late King’s life with sorcery; Bedford would not allow Gloucester to be regent in England because it had not been the late King's intention. Pedro suddenly felt a little weary and took pity on the ignorant young boy in Eltham who held nothing but the mere empty title of the king. He turned to the Duke and asked him if he intended to call a Parliament to settle the dispute. The Lord Mayor was clearly growing anxious, as the street brawl between the two lords' entourage was seriously affecting the city’s business.

"Not so fast," said the Duke of Bedford, resuming his seat, "I have to choose a time and place to assemble Parliament and send letters to all the shires to summon the members, all of which take time, not to mention that I want to visit the King at Eltham for Christmas and spend some time with him, and do not want to be disturbed," There was warmth in his dark eyes at last, "I haven't seen the boy for a long time."

"He's a good boy," Pedro said whole-heartedly, "you will like him."

"I hope so," the Duke of Bedford replied. He turned to lighter topics, asking about Pedro's travels around the world, about the Holy Land and the Eastern Empire, about Murad and Sigismund, and about the well-being of his father and brothers. He raised his brow when he heard that King João and the nobles of Portugal were at odds.

"Why, is it that your princes of Portugal also grudge against uncle João's war?"

Naturally not, thought Pedro, the war was good, it would bring them lands, fill their coffers, and give them immortal fame. They just didn't like the way the king conducted his wars ... it was kings weak and feeble, easily manipulated that they liked, and a king with strong measures such as João would only meet with fierce resistance from them.

"No," he replied, "They just don't like to pay for the war."

The Duke of Bedford nodded with understanding and the two men exchanged an unspoken, bitter smile.

"I'm sure my uncle can deal with it," Bedford said, raising his cup and smiling, the reflection of his smile twisted on the silver cup, "How fortunate art thou, Dom Pedro, that your father and brothers are both alive! Where do you intend to go next?"

Fortunate? He didn't think so. João gripped his power tightly, only allow his eldest son Duarte to share with him – and that a small portion of it - and criticised everything Duarte did. As for his younger sons, they were given titles, but without any real power. The five brothers were all bored to death and were spending their excessive energy elsewhere. Enrique was devoting himself to his seafaring career, Duarte had developed a liking for writing books, as for him …

"Burgundy?" He pondered for a moment, remembering that the Duke of Burgundy had befriended the Duke of Bedford and that he had heard in France that the court of Burgundy was one of the most literate in Europe. The Duke of Bedford's eyes lit up.

"The Duke of Burgundy is newly widowed," he said, carefully choosing his words, "I heard from ... I know that my cousin Isabella is beautiful as well as virtuous. If it were not for she has governed the court of Portugal after the death of aunt Philippa and declined all proposals, then there’s not a prince in Christendom – my brother Henry included - that would not have her as his bride."

"I see," Pedro answered, " the Duke of Burgundy is in his prime, handsome, elegant, wealthy, and one of the most powerful princes of Christendom. It would be a good match for her indeed if he asks for her hand. I will write to ask her about it."

"Naturally," Bedford said, rising to his feet, "and if my cousin consents to it, I will do my best to bring about the marriage."

With these words, he embraced and kissed Pedro, and, promising to meet him again at Eltham, went towards the door. Alvaro had already pulled the door open for him, his flannel robe almost swept out of the room, before he halted and turned to look at Pedro with a bitter smile on his face.

"Your father clings to his power and his life, your brother alive, and you yourself travelling on the continent ...... Indeed, Cousin Pedro, how fortunate you are!"

The sound of his heavy footsteps faded from the door, and Pedro took out the letter he had hurriedly hidden away before the Duke's visit, dipped his quill, and was about to continue writing when Alvaro glanced at it and gasped.

"Dom Pedro, you are too wordy!"

"Ah, shut up, Alvaro," Pedro said, pushing him aside with feigned impatience, " Duarte told me to tell him _everything_ that happened, and I am doing my job as the Prince bids me! What's wrong with me telling him more when there's so much going on in England?" He said and added a few words on his letter, asking Duarte to ask Isabella if she would marry that famous Duke of Burgundy.

"I am deeply convinced that all those knights who came here to attend the annual assemblies of the Order of the Garter and came back loaded with praises for this country of England are all vicious liars," he wrote, a smile involuntarily appearing at the corners of his lips, "England is a far cry from Portugal. They have neither a sovereign as eloquent as our father, nor a prince as diligent as you. After Christmas the Duke of Bedford will open another parliament - they have placed all their hopes of settling their quarrels on the Duke, who has newly returned from France, and I am curious to see if he will be able to meet their hopes. Not only are they at war with each other at home, but their alliances abroad seem just as fragile. Father always says that if England were to conquer France, they must keep their alliance with the Burgundians, but even he probably could not have imagined that they would have to use our sister's marriage to achieve their ends. God forbid that we should quarrel among ourselves in their like manner and be the laughing stock of other nations."

He finished the letter, sealed it, handed it to Alvaro, rose from the chair, and fell heavily on the feathered mattress, staring wide-eyed at the crimson canopy. The look of the Duke of Bedford before he left was once again before his eyes. The Duke, with his grizzle hair and bitter smile, said how lucky he was that his father and brother were both alive.

It took him a long time to begin to understand what the Duke meant when he said thus. He was young then, dreaming of glory and conquest, his gaze was towards the vast lands of Africa, remembering the former glory at the gate of Ceuta, longing for the alien country across the sea, with its palaces of gold floors and jasper ceilings as Enrique told them. It was not until Enrique's defeated at Tangier and Ferdinand taken hostage that he began to understand. Duarte responded to their pleas with silence, giving up Ferdinand to the Moors to keep Ceuta. Then Duarte died before his time, and Portugal, with her king a child, also became the land of woe in the people’s minds. He revoked Duarte's will and banished Queen Leonor to take over the regency. But he finally appreciated the meaning of those words many years later, when England had languished; the Duke of Bedford long deceased; the English nobles, following the death of the only one who could restrain them, at home among themselves debated, aboard begging the French for peace. But these had nothing to do with him. For he was standing on the battlefield of Alfarrobeira, his name stained with the false charge of treason, the army of Duarte’s son and that bastard Braganza before him, and the banner of Enrique's vassals flying among the banners of those risen against him.

“Indeed, Cousin Pedro, how fortunate you are, with your father and brother both alive!"

The child he had raised, his son-in-law, his nephew, his lord and king had proclaimed him a traitor and desired his death. His last surviving brother had allowed his vassals to fight against him. The Duke of Bedford's words suddenly resounded in his ears, drowned in the whistling of a thousand feathered arrows flying through the air, and melted into silence.

**Author's Note:**

> The title was taken from Beaufort's letter to Bedford
> 
> Infante Peter (Pedro) Duke of Coimbra "Peter of the Seven Parts of the World" is the second son of King Joao I of Portugal, the founder of the House of Aviz and the victor of Aljubarrota, and his wife Philippa of Lancaster, daughter of John of Gaunt and Blanche of Lancaster. His younger brother Henry (Enrique) is the famous "Henry the Navigator". In 1425 Pedro, while on his journey across Europe, came to England and helped settle the dispute between Gloucester and Beaufort before resuming his journey which brought him into the Burgundian Court. After the death of his eldest brother Duarte (Edward) in 1438 (aged 46) Pedro became the regent to his nephew Alfonso V through a coup d'etat and banished Duarte's foreign wife Leonor. In 1449 his nephew Alfonso V, now of age and under the influence of Pedro's bastard brother Alfonso Duke of Branganza, proclaimed him a traitor and Pedro died in the battle of Alfarrobeira which ensued. Henry VI was greatly angered at his death and the relationship between England and Portugal cooled thereafter. The descendents of Philippa sometimes style themselves "de Lencastre", especially after the royal house of Lancaster became extinct.
> 
> Álvaro Vaz de Almada, a portugese knight. He onced served Henry V in Wales. In 1415 King Henry gave he and his father a total of some 700 lances at the request of Henry the Navigator. He took part in the siege of Ceuta in the same year and became the lifelong friend of Infante Pedro, eventually died with him in the battle of Alfarrobeira. He was made the Count of Avranches and KG by Henry VI and his name appeared as one of "The Twelve of England" in Portugese legends
> 
> Richard Woodville: was the father of _the_ Richard Woodville Earl Rivers. This Richard Woodville was 'trusted with the king our sovereign lord that dead is, also chamberlain and councillor onto my lord of Bedford'
> 
> "their land shall be in woe": Walsingham, "...They were afraid when they thought of the saying of Solomon, 'Woe to that land whose king is a boy'"
> 
> "to sacrifice my rights to fulfill Humphrey's ambition": The Duke of Bedford's letter to the City of London, Oct. 1422, "...as we trow and trust fully that it was not our said sovereign lord's intent to derogate or do prejudice against [our right]"
> 
> "according to him, it was the late King's wish": Henry V had named Gloucester 'tutela" of Henry VI in his will.
> 
> "a friar who had once plotted against the late King’s life with sorcery": Was a certain frair Randolf, who in 1419 was accused of using sorcery to attempt the king's life at the request of the Dowger Queen Joan. He fled England but was captured, Henry V interrogated him at Mantes and threw him into the Tower. Gloucester in 1425, for unknown reason, brought him out of the Tower for some time.


End file.
